From Ash
by LaurenOD
Summary: Modryn Oreyn observes the rise to power of a young Dunmer woman, from fresh recruit to Guildmaster and beyond.
1. Master

I recently played the Fighter's Guild questline all over again and I'd forgotten how awesome it was. Blackwood Company. Rank amateurs.

* * *

"I've found someone to look for Maglir."

"Mmm?" Oreyn looked up from his copy of the Courier to his Master. Donton was looking old, he thought. Older since Vitellus.

"Azzan just made her a Journeyman. Dunmer girl."

"You say that like it should impress me, Vilena."

"Well, maybe not," she sighed. "But Azzan speaks highly of her. Burz too."

"Very well. Send her over."

* * *

"Why did you join the Guild, boot?"

The new recruit shuffled her feet. Her armour was rusted and mismatched, undoubtedly looted, and she coughed frequently. It was a cough Oreyn knew well, Ashlander lungs adapting to the clean air of Cyrodiil. He had never known it himself, however; his family had traded the Blight-ridden plains of Ald'ruhn for Colovia when he was a child.

"I needed the money, sir," she smiled awkwardly, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "and I'm handy enough with a blade. Seemed logical."

"'Handy' is rarely enough to get you anywhere," he frowned. "But I do have a job for you."

"Yes sir. Fire away."

* * *

"Prelius and his men have moved on, sir."

"It took you a _fortnight _to talk three men out of a drunken brawl?" Oreyn slammed his fist against the table, making the new recruit start.

"Without meaning to be impertinent, sir," she said carefully. "There ended up being a little more to it than that."

And with every shred of impertinence she could muster the new recruit pulled up a chair next to him, crossed her bandy legs, helped herself to a glass of Tamika's best and told him the tale. She spoke candidly of Argonian barkeeps, of helpful alchemists and haunted ships and how damned hard it was to get a silver blade around these parts.

"So," she finished, plucking a few grapes from a bowl on the table. "what are you going to do about these Blackwood Company people then?"

Oreyn advanced her to Swordsman and dismissed her sharply.

* * *

The new recruit was sat on a bench next to the forge, carefully tapping out some kinks in her breastplate, when she hissed at him.

"I beg of you," she shook her head. "never send me on a mission with the Donton boy again. He is, with all due respect, an utter fool. He almost got me killed. Not once. Countless, countless times."

"You know of course that Viranus will be receiving your pay for this contract?" Oreyn raised a thin eyebrow at her.

The recruit brought her hammer down with a last heavy _clang_ and lifted the piece up for inspection.

"I was not aware of that, no."

* * *

Oreyn opened the door to the new recruit swiftly once he heard her knock.

"You're late."

"My apologies, sir," she stepped past him into the house. Oreyn craned his neck outside briefly to see if she had been followed and, satisfied that she was alone, closed the door behind them.

She stood with her feet together and her hands clasped behind her back, awaiting orders. In the last few months the girl had miraculously learnt some discipline, and had lost some of that cheek which had, unbeknownst to her, almost cost her advancement on several occasions.

"So. This covert operation business. What am I to do?"

"I'll explain on the way," Oreyn shouldered his pack and threw another to her. "I'm coming with you this time."

"Sir?" it was a question, he judged, as the ruby spheres of her eyes almost popped from their sockets.

"You're ready, recruit. Come on."

* * *

It took him several minutes of wondering how she had gotten so excellent at fighting recently before Oreyn realised that he had never seen her in battle before. He was a little stunned, and not just because of the Ayleid trap which had knocked him for six a few feet into Atatar.

The recruit was crouched next to Azani Blackheart's corpse, prying off his gauntlets before rigor mortis set in. With a few sharp tugs of her wrist she pulled them free, and carefully twisted the ring from his finger.

"There," she presented it proudly. "Is that enough evidence for you?"

"Perfect," Oreyn grinned, placing it securely inside his pack. "Good work. I only apologise that I cannot pay you for your labours."

"Well…" she crooned, running her fingers covetously along the ridges of Blackheart's armour and the sharp edge of Sinweaver. "they're not too badly damaged… would it be unsportsmanlike of me to take the spoils?"

"Be my guest."

"Excellent. I promise I won't be long, you'll be back and tending to all your injuries in no time," she grinned roguishly. That cocky streak was resurfacing, and Oreyn was more than a little surprised to realise how much he had missed it.

* * *

Oreyn knew something was wrong the second she stepped inside the Guild hall. Usually when returning from a mission she would stroll in, self-satisfied and beaming, her coin purse jangling with fresh loot.

But this occasion was different. She kept her head low, glancing about until she caught sight of him, and heaving a painful sigh when she did. Oreyn made for the back door and gestured for her to follow.

It was pouring with rain, and the recruit told him everything as they huddled beneath the tower bridge. At the end of her story she produced a tattered journal from her pack, dark with blood stains.

She looked up at him, her hair hanging in sodden rat-tails around her face.

Neither said a word. They both knew.

* * *

It was strange seeing her out of armour. Dressed in commoner clothing she looked much smaller, and Oreyn wondered at her ability to cart around a small arsenal every day. She placed a bottle of cheap wine on the table.

"I wanted Surille Brothers," she said, pulling up a seat. "but the payout isn't as good these days."

"You were demoted?" he asked, taking the chair opposite hers and pouring them both a glass.

"Yes," she nodded. "but it hardly seems appropriate to point that out in front of you."

"My dismissal was expected," he growled. "it was not your idea to send Viranus to the mine."

"It hardly matters," she shrugged, pausing to take a long swallow of wine and grimacing at the taste. "rank means very little any more. Even Guardians are struggling for contracts. The Blackwood Company are taking everything."

"Amateur bastards," he spat angrily, then shook his head and sighed. "you should not be risking your position by visiting me if it is already tenuous."

"Everyone's position is tenuous, Oreyn. Soon there won't be a guild to be expelled _from_. And Donton had the inspiration to oust the one person who could stop it," she closed her eyes.

Oreyn had once watched the sun setting over Anvil, and he thought her eyes might be that colour.

When she finally opened them, however, they burnt like the Dragonfires.

"This is not the end of it," she said. "that much I know."

* * *

It was one of those impossibly sunny days; the ones which made Cheydinhal look as idyllic a place as could be imagined, all high beams and succulent lawns. The new Champion allowed herself be cheered a little by the glittering the river and the stained glass. After all, she thought, her pleasures came few and far between those days.

She found Burz lounging by the riverside, staring aimlessly off into the distance. He, like the rest of his brothers-in-arms, had become melancholy and distractible since the flow of contracts had petered off to a bare trickle. The guild halls of Cyrodiil were full of itchy sword-hands; and that, she reflected, was an accident waiting to happen.

"Morning," she called as she crossed the bridge to meet him.

"Hail, Champion," he grunted. "how goes it?"

"Well, you know, slow as usual. I've been trying to talk Sinderion into throwing some contracts our way but he's not biting."

"Well, you may be in luck."

"Oh?" the new Champion took an eager step forward. She had received no fresh work in weeks.

"An old friend of ours wants to see you. He's got a plan."

The new Champion paused for a long moment, watching the sunlight glinting off Burz's mace, a harmless wisp of the afternoon.

"I see," she smiled gently. "Thank you. Well… I'd best be on my way then."

* * *

"That's not enough!"

The Champion slammed her fist into the side of Ajum-Kajin's face, which made a sickening cracking sound as several scales dislodged from his skin.

Oreyn was bristling with excitement. Finding the mage had been a shot in the dark, so to have him in front of them- and already spilling the Blackwood secrets they so desperately needed- was nothing short of miraculous.

"Nothing more!" the Argonian cried, getting to his feet. "I choose death! Long live the Blackwood Company!"

Before either of them could move he had slipped something from his pocket and combusted into a pyre of flame, which dissipated quickly, leaving behind nothing but a smoking corpse. The smell of roasted flesh filled the room, and the Champion coughed heavily as she stepped away from the body.

"By Azura… Oreyn, I'm sorry I couldn't get any more out of him," she sighed, wiping the blood from her knuckles and pulling her gauntlets back on.

"You got more than enough," Oreyn clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Well sir," the corners of her mouth twitched into something that may have been a smile. "What next?"

The last thing Oreyn expected to open the door to in the middle of the night was an Imperial Legion solider; indeed, he never expected anyone save the new Champion, who would occasionally slip away from the barracks to strategise with him at ungodly hours.

* * *

"Can I help you?" he asked, straining against an overwhelming yawn.

"Modryn Oreyn?" the solider spoke gravely. "Fighter's Guild Champion?"

"_Ex_ Champion," Oreyn frowned sourly. "Why?"

"Some of your guild brothers found this on the street in Leyawiin and told me to bring her to you," the soldier walked back onto the street and carefully lifted something down from his horse. As he turned back Oreyn saw what it was he was carrying; the new Champion's body lay limp in the soldier's arms, her face glistening with sweat.

"Does she live? What happened to her?" Oreyn snarled, dashing forward to the new Champion's limp form.

"She's alive, sir. But no-one knows what happened- like I said, she was unconscious when they found her."

"Give her to me," Oreyn muttered, gingerly taking the new Champion into his arms. Someone had removed her armour, but even in common clothing she was deceptively heavy. She shivered as if freezing, but her skin was boiling hot to the touch.

"I have her kit with me sir- shall I leave it at the barracks?" the soldier asked uncertainly.

Oreyn nodded absently and waved him away, intent on getting the new Champion inside. As he laid her down on his bed she coughed weakly. Her lips were dry and cracked, and Oreyn lifted her neck to tip a little wine down her throat. Once she had swallowed some she settled slightly, though her skin was still drained of colour.

Oreyn maintained a candlelight vigil by her bedside all night, and was slipping into sleep himself when her eyelids flickered sometime near dawn.

"Oreyn?" she croaked. "where am I?"

"At my house. You were found unconscious on the streets of Leyawiin. What happened? What did they do to you?" he asked.

"I beg of you… don't ask me to work with them again," her voice quavered. She rolled over onto her side, her fists balling at the thin sheets.

"You must tell me what happened."

The new Champion took a deep breath and told him her story. Hist Sap, Water's Edge, goblins; as the fragments of her tale fell into place a deep nausea settled in the pit of his stomach, and he prayed to the Nine that his suspicions would prove false. Without thinking, he reached out his hand and stroked her sweat-drenched hair.

"I promise you," he said. "you will never have to work for them again. But I have one thing to ask of you; you must return to Water's Edge."

* * *

She did not even knock at his door. In fact, if he had not glanced out of the window and noticed the dark shape against the rain outside he would not have known she was there. When he pulled the door open she said nothing. Stood in the pouring rain, wearing only the thin linens she had left in the previous morning, she looked up at him blankly with glazed eyes. As he pulled her inside, Oreyn regretted enlisting her on the mission for the first time.

She sat on the floor beside the fire, still gazing out with that thousand-yard stare. Several times she attempted to speak, then stopped and fell quiet again. Oreyn wondered if the Hist Sap had affected her worse than he had first believed, and whether he could forgive himself if the damage was irreversible.

The new Champion said something then, but the noise that escaped her mouth was so rough and animal that he had to ask her to repeat it.

"I killed them," she whispered. "I- we- killed them all… they weren't goblins. The Hist… even Biene Amelion… I killed them, Oreyn."

She opened her palms before her and stared at them, wild terror in her eyes. Then her head fell forward and she began to cry, in deep, guttural sobs that wrenched at Oreyn's heart. He knelt down beside her, and lifted her face so she was looking him straight in the eyes.

"There was no way you could have known."

She collapsed onto his chest as her cries subsided, hands clawing weakly for purchase at his back. He rocked her against him quietly, and somehow he realised he was panicking, although he could not have said why.

After a moment she ceased her sobbing sharply, as if a trance had been broken.

"I will need three days to recover first," she said, in a voice so quite it was barely audible.

"First?" Oreyn frowned. "Before what?"

She looked up at him, and the fire in her eyes was blazing brighter than he had ever seen it.

"Before Ri'Zakar dies and the Hist burns."

* * *

"I got you a present from Leyawiin," she reached out her arm and handed him something.

Oreyn was about to ask her why she had given him a charred tree branch when the realization dawned on him. The new Champion looked up at him and began to laugh hysterically, half from joy and half from exhaustion. Then, without asking permission, she pushed past him, curled up on his bed and fell fast asleep.

* * *

"No."

"And why not?" the last few days had done wonders to the new Master. Between the celebrations in her honour and the long rests between them all her vigour had been restored. The armour she had stolen from Azani Blackheart so long ago had been repaired and polished to a ceremonial shine, and she looked every inch the leader.

"I'm retired," he sighed. "I've taken up painting."

Oreyn waved towards his inaugural canvas, and the new Master tried and failed to repress a snort of laughter.

"It's been less than a week, Oreyn! Also, why do I have a mohawk?"

"Mm, what? Anyway, no, I'm not coming back."

"Oh, Oreyn, do we have to go through this charade?" she groaned, sitting down heavily. "We both know you're going to say yes."

"Is that so? Why?"

"Because," she said. "with all due respect to the woman, I am not old like Donton. My adventuring days are far from over. I _need_ a seneschal. And you know and I know that there's no-one else that's equipped for the job. You just want to hear me say it."

"Well that's just not true. But alright then, I'll do it," he smiled.

"Unbelievable," the new Master shook her head in exasperation as she got to her feet. "Right. I have a Guild to run. Drop by the hall later and I'll reinstate you properly."

"Bye then," he waved her off.

The new Master made an obscene gesture at the back of his head, but stopped short in the doorway as she went to leave.

"Oreyn?" she called without turning around.

"What?"

"Don't give up your new hobby, will you? You look rather fetching with paint splattered all over you."

She stepped outside, smiling at the floor, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

I think there's probably more to come. Hope you enjoyed :)


	2. Pilgrim

The guild did not, as he had predicted, fall around her ears.

In fact, Oreyn had to admit- reluctantly- that she was doing an excellent job as Guildmaster.

The new Master was more hands-on than Vilena had ever been, saddling up her horse several times a month to visit the other chapters in Cyrodiil. She was also surprisingly astute when it came to procuring contracts, and was close to closing a long-term deal with the Arcane University. Mostly, however, she remained in Chorrol, sparring with the new recruits and dealing with as much paperwork as her attention span would allow (which was very little).

The most recent addition to their ranks was a young Imperial named Magnus, who had travelled from the Imperial City with the express intention of joining the Chorrol division for the 'privilege of working alongside the new Master'. He was skilled in battle, the embodiment of charm, and handsome as only an Imperial of flawless stock could be.

To say that Oreyn did not like the boy would be an understatement.

The new Master had returned from Anvil the previous night, and had sent word to Oreyn that he should meet her at the Guildhall the following morning.

When he found her she was in the archery lot behind the hall. She was dressed in simple leathers and was giving a lesson to Magnus.

"You need to shoot a little higher," she said gently. "Like this."

The Master reached around Magnus' back and positioned his hands correctly. He released the bowstring and his arrow went sailing into the bullseye of the target.

"There! Much better," she nodded, stepping back from him.

"I'm only as good as the training you give me, Master," he smiled.

Oreyn cleared his throat conspicuously.

"Ah! Oreyn, you're here. Good, come with me."

"By the Nine," he hissed when they entered the hall. "the boy _knows_ how to shoot a bow."

"He asked me for a lesson," she shrugged.

"No offence intended, Master, but he's a better shot than you are."

"You really don't like the boy, do you?"

"No. He's a smarmy little bastard and I don't trust him."

"Does your bed even _have_ a good side?"

By the time their bickering had subsided they had reached the top floor. The Master sat cross-legged on the desk, as was her custom, and addressed him.

"I've finally found something to do," she beamed, clapping her hands against her knees.

"I see," he frowned. "is running an entire guild not 'something' any more?"

"Well, yes, no, of course," she sighed. "but writing memoranda and taking tea with the Arch-Mage isn't exactly scintillating."

"And I'm supposed to look after the guild when you're off doing whatever it is you're doing?"

"Technically that is your job," she frowned. "regardless, I'll still be around, just not as frequently. Don't you want to hear what I'm going to do?"

"Oh, alright then," he made a show of groaning at the prospect.

"You heard about the Anvil Chapel attacks of course?"

Oreyn nodded.

"Well, I was passing through, and I stopped to speak to the man who's been preaching outside the Chapel. We talked for a long while and he told me about some threat to Cyrodiil- not quite sure what, I wasn't really listening, I'm sure I'll figure it out later- but apparently some holy artefacts need to be recovered to combat it."

"And you're going to recover them?" he narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm going to give it a shot," she smiled. "but first I have to take this 'Pilgrimage'- visit all these Wayshrines, look-" she took a folded map from her desk and showed it to Oreyn.

"With all due respect, Master," he said quietly. "I thought you subscribed to… different gods."

"Azura and Boethia have served me well," she said quickly, a blush rising in her alkanet skin. "But refusing to believe that there are other powers would be nothing but arrogant. I have much to learn yet, I feel."

"Well, it sounds like a fool's errand to me, Master."

"In that case, the prospect of proving you wrong is all the motivation I need," she grinned. "and will you stop calling me that, please?"


	3. Crusader

DISCLAIMER: Bethesda owns all this stuff

* * *

"Well in all honesty it was _boring_," the Master sighed, knocking back the last dregs from her flagon and calling over to Emfrid for another.

She had turned up at the Guildhall a couple of weeks after setting off on her Pilgrimage, forcibly dragging Oreyn to the Grey Mare so she could divulge all the details of her story.

"What were you expecting it to be?"

"I don't know. Enlightening?"

"So I take it you're coming back now."

"What? No, no," she waved him off. "Let me finish will you?"

"Oh, very well."

"So I get to the last Wayshrine and I get this _vision_, and I'm miles above the Imperial City, right? And the spirit of Pelinal Whitestrake comes and speaks to me-"

"I'm sorry," he scoffed. "did you say Wayshrines or Skooma dens?"

"Shut _up _Oreyn!" she glared at him. "I _know _it was real. He told me where to find the first relic, in an Ayleid shrine at the bottom of Lake Rumare."

Holding up a finger to silence him, she reached under her table and pulled something out of her pack. Placing the winged helm on the table, she leant back in her chair, arms crossed triumphantly over her chest.

Oreyn picked it up and examined it from all angles, frowning. "There's a reasonable explanation for this."

"Maybe," the Master shrugged. "I got a nice helmet out of it though."

* * *

After the Master left in search for the Priory of the Nine, Oreyn heard nothing from her for weeks. He had no cause for alarm though, as one couldn't go anywhere in public without hearing excited gossip about the so-called 'Divine Crusader'; how she had been granted a boon by Kynareth herself, had deciphered ancient riddles in secret tombs, had walked across thin air to retrieve a holy relic.

No matter whether these rumours were true or not, the Master's gift of the gab was certainly alive and well.

Regardless of how important and life-saving her quest was purported to be, Oreyn couldn't help but be thoroughly irritated that he had been left in sole charge of guild affairs- and more importantly, that he was forced to spend time with Magnus. The whelp had been utterly unbearable since the Master had left, and Oreyn had begun to spend most of his time writing to border settlements to see if they needed a long-term guard placement.

It was Magnus who ran into the Guildhall one particularly balmy morning in Last Seed to announce the Master's return.

"Oreyn! Oreyn!" he cried gleefully, running up the office stairs unbidden.

"It's sir to you, boot. And what is it? Have you forgotten how to tie your shoelaces again?" Oreyn spat.

"No sir," Magnus smiled, seemingly oblivious to the insult. "The Master is back! They say she is performing miracles at the Chapel!"

"She's what?" Oreyn got to his feet. "Dear me, what _is _that girl doing now?"

"You seem to have little faith in our Master, _sir_," the boy sniffed.

"For your information, boot, I have known the Master longer and better than you ever will, and I advise you to keep your mouth firmly shut on the matter," Oreyn narrowed his eyes.

He left for the Chapel with Magnus following at his heels like an insolent puppy. Otius Loran was keeping the throng of locals away from the Chapel doors, but, recognising them as guild brothers, waved the two of them through.

The sight that awaited them was a strange one to say the least. Several golden daedra lay slain about the floor, the carnage being cleaned up by Gureryne Sevilo. The priest Areldur stood in a corner speaking intently with a Redguard whom Oreyn did not recognise, and, near the altar, the Champion sat alone at the end of a pew.

Magnus rushed forward before Oreyn could stop him, falling on one knee at her feet.

"Master!" he exclaimed. "All of Chorrol is speaking of your great deeds!"

"Mm…" the Master, who appeared to have been sleeping, opened her eyes slowly. "Magnus? Is that you?"

"Indeed, my lady," he bowed his head. "I came here to receive yo-"

"Where is Oreyn?" she yawned, interrupting him.

"Here, Master," Oreyn pushed past Magnus smugly, making sure he stepped on his toes in the process.

"Hello," she smiled sleepily. "Sit, will you? You're making the place look untidy."

"They say you have been performing miracles," Oreyn raised his eyebrows as he took a seat next to her.

"Have they indeed?" she laughed gently. "I wouldn't go that far. I took the burden of an old curse from Kellen, the Redguard lad. It's not so bad though. I'm just tired. Very tired. And look what I got in return…"

With what seemed like a great effort, the Master reached down and picked up a pair of gauntlets from under the pew.

"So it's true?" he marvelled. "You've gathered the Crusader's Relics?"

"Mm. Most of them," she sighed. "I've got more to do. Not today, though. I'm too tired."

She closed her eyes again, resting her head wearily on Oreyn's shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I've been neglecting the guild some, Oreyn," she murmured. "this will all be over soon. I trust your judgement until then."

"Not at all," he swallowed.

"I'll stay at your house tonight, if you would? The barracks are no better than the inns for noise. And I'm so very tired…"

"Of course, Master," he helped her to her feet and gave her his arm as she shuffled drowsily outside, making sure to flash a superior grin at Magnus as he did so.

* * *

Oreyn was working late in the Guildhall offices when he heard noises from downstairs. He was certain that he had locked the doors, and kept one hand on his mace as footsteps approached. When the figure reached the top of the stairs he thought for a second some mythic hero was standing before him, clad in glittering armour emblazoned with the red diamond of the Nine. It did not take him long to come to his senses and realise it was the Master, returned after a long absence in search of the Crusader's relics.

She perched on the edge of the desk, tugging off her winged helmet as she did so.

"You… found them all?" he breathed.

"It would seem so," she nodded. "actually, you can have this if you like."

She unsheathed a mace from her belt and handed it to him. It was inset with runes that glowed softly in the semi-darkness.

"Is this…?" he trailed off, looking up to her for confirmation.

"Indeed. But it's not as if I need it. After all-" she pulled her sword from its scabbard and performed a few experimental jabs before replacing it. "-I'm not a barbarian like you."

"I'm not sure whether to thank you or berate you for that," he smiled.

"Berate me," she nodded grimly. "I'd be worried if you didn't."

"Why are you here?" he asked slowly. Her face was set in a grim resignation he was not unused to. This was not a spontaneous visit.

"Tonight I travel to meet the knights at Garlas Malatar. The relics have been restored, Oreyn. I must face Umaril now. I felt I should take a detour to inform you. It is, after all, something of a dangerous mission."

"I see," Oreyn started intently at the wood-grain of the desk for a moment before speaking again. "Don't go."

"What?" the Master frowned.

"If it's that dangerous then don't go. This is not some mercenary leader you can cut down with a few well-aimed blows. If what your prophet says is true, this in an ancient and powerful creature. It is too dangerous, Master."

"Do you doubt my abilities?" she stood, glaring at him.

"That is not what I'm saying," he shook his head. "If anyone can succeed here, you can. But you are too important to too many people to risk your life now."

"What are you trying to say?" she said quietly.

"Do not risk your life," he replied simply. He did not meet her gaze.

"I am no coward, Oreyn. When- if- I return, it will be first to the Priory in the West Weald. Meet me there if you wish the news first. Goodbye."

She turned on her heel and left him.

* * *

They carried her down into the Undercroft on a board of oak, her sword at her chest with her hands clasped at its hilt. The relics she still wore shone softly in the torchlight.

The eight knights served as pallbearers, some grim and stoic, some weeping openly at their loss. Sir Avita wound tiger lilies into her hair, and each of the others took it in turn to leave their own token in her tomb. The Prophet stood alongside Oreyn, his head bowed in mourning, speaking prayers to the Nine that were echoed by the others.

When Sir Thedret had laid his offering, he turned to face Oreyn.

"Would you like a moment with her, Sir?" he asked.

Oreyn nodded, and Sir Thedret and the others filed out in silence. He walked to her casket slowly, half of him wanting nothing more than to turn away and leave. But he carried on forward, until he could see her body, illuminated by candlelight, her eyes closed in peace. In death she looked as beautiful as she ever had in life, from the way the braids in her hair softly framed her face to the smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of her nose. Oreyn could have fooled himself, too, that she was wearing that smile she so often wore; the one that said 'I know something you don't'.

He clenched his teeth against the many bitter emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. Clasping one cold hand in his, he reached into his pocket and brought out his own token; the ring she had taken from Azani Blackheart's body on their first mission together. He smiled at the memory in spite of himself, and laid the ring on her chest.

This was wrong, he thought; she should not be buried in secret in the undercroft of some forgotten Priory. She deserved mourning parades through the streets, a pyre in the Ashlands; but not this.

He was working up the courage to tear himself away when a voice called out from the shadows.

"Listen to me, son," it appeared that the Prophet had not left with the others as he had believed. He stepped out from the darkness and stared at Oreyn intently. "She will surprise you yet."

Oreyn hesitated for a moment, then nodded a thanks to the old man and hurried away before anyone could spare him a kind word.

* * *

Oreyn remained at the Priory for several days. Despite his protestations the Knights had insisted that the Crusader's death be kept a secret, and he had no wish to return to Chorrol and deal with the inevitable questions straight away. Mostly he kept to himself, taking walks across the West Weald in solitude and reading on the Chapel tower.

On one of the rare occasions he had socialised with the others during his stay he was taking breakfast at the communal dining table. To his great relief they all spoke very little- most were still brooding over what had conspired at Garlas Malatar. Oreyn had just finished his meal and was preparing to leave the Priory when Sir Thedret stood up suddenly, holding out his hand to signal for quiet.

"There are noises coming from the undercroft," he whispered.

"Aurorans?" Sir Carodus asked anxiously.

"I don't know. I'm going to take a look," Thedret unsheathed his sword and ran down the steps. Oreyn clenched his fists under the table but did not move. If the Crusader's tomb had been desecrated there would be a great deal of blood spilt that day.

Oreyn and the remaining Knights listened intently, sword-hands at the ready, but no sounds of a struggle could be heard. Eventually the undercroft door creaked open and a stunned-looking Sir Thedret ascended.

The reason for his expression soon became clear, as the Crusader herself followed soon behind him, looking nothing worse than dishevelled.

"Morning all," she smiled. "thanks for the lovely send-off, but I'm afraid your efforts have been a little wasted. Sorry about that."

"C-Crusader?" Sir Lathon laughed. "You're alive?"

"It would appear so, wouldn't it?"

"And Umaril? What happened?" Areldur asked quickly, seemingly the first to recover from the shock of seeing their leader resurrected.

"Oh, he's dead," she nodded. "Yes. Very, definitely, properly dead this time. No worries on that account."

As casually as one who had just been raised from the dead could be, she helped herself to an apple and began to pull the withered flower blossoms from her hair. It was then that she noticed Oreyn amongst the knights, and her face broke into a smile upon spotting him.

"Oreyn!" she threw her half eaten apple to the ground and dashed over to him. "You stayed here all this time?"

"You were dead," he frowned. "I saw you."

"Oh, come now," she smiled gently. "did you think that would stop me?"

"But you were _dead_," he repeated. "I was at your tomb."

"I know," she said softly, looking down. "I saw it, somehow. You gave me Blackheart's ring, didn't you? Thank you for that. I know it is not something you would not have parted with readily."

"You were dead," was all Oreyn managed to say.

"Well, yes, so you keep saying," she laughed. "I'm going to take a nap, I think. Death is rather exhausting, it would seem. Shall we return to Chorrol tomorrow?"

Oreyn nodded dumbly as she walked away.

* * *

"Has Oreyn left already?" the Crusader asked her knights the following morning. She leant in the Priory doorway, munching absent-mindedly on a pear, bare feet crossed at the ankle. Having tired of trudging around in the cumbersome relics for weeks she had opted for her training leathers instead, finding their simple comfort a welcome reprieve.

"I don't think so, my lady," Sir Brellin replied. "his pack is still upstairs. Have you checked the grounds?"

"I have," she nodded. "where in Oblivion has he got to?"

Deciding that Sir Geimund would not object to the Divine Crusader borrowing his horse for an hour, she saddled up the stallion and began to ride aimlessly around the forests surrounding the Priory, presuming that sooner or later she and Oreyn would cross paths.

She was right on that count, as little more than half an hour had passed when she caught sight of him, sitting at the base of the Wayshrine of Akatosh that lay just west of the Priory. She dismounted the horse and, after tying its reins loosely to a low-hanging tree branch, stepped quietly over to where Oreyn sat. He barely acknowledged her presence as she leant against the crumbling pillar next to him, just remained taciturn, staring out across the grassland.

"Are you alright?" she frowned. "you seem a little… distracted."

"I am not distracted," he said.

"Oreyn, I do believe you're sulking," she said quietly.

"You really are an incredible fool sometimes, Master," he snapped suddenly, getting to his feet and stalking around to the other side of the shrine.

"What?" the Crusader clambered over to face him again. "Oreyn, are you angry at me?"

"Angry?" he hissed. "I'm _furious_, Master, if you must know."

"What exactly have I done?"

"You went and got yourself killed, that's what you did!" he snapped.

"I'm… sorry?" she hazarded. "I don't really understand why that's such a crime to begin with, but I hardly see the point in persisting with your grudge. I managed to rectify the situation after all, and the odds were stacked slightly out of my favour."

"It's all just a joke to you, isn't it?" he said, glowering at her. "How do you think it felt for- for the rest of us? We didn't know you were coming back. We thought you were gone."

"Oreyn, I-"

"You can't just swan into people's lives, turn them on their heads and expect everything to be fine if you decide to go and die on them-"

"Oreyn!" the Crusader interrupted loudly. She shook her head, eyes wide with bewilderment. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Not a one. Can we please knock the crazy on the head and go home now?"

"You're lucky you're good with a blade, Master," he scoffed. "because you're remarkably thick in the head."

Oreyn stared at the Crusader with something which may have been disgust and may have been something entirely different, but either way left her utterly bewildered and not a little offended.

"Modryn Oreyn," she hissed. "I will not tolerate your insults. I may be your friend but I am still your Master, and unless you explain your insubordination right now there will be consequences."

"Are you threatening me?" he sneered.

"Yes," she whispered. "and you should know from that alone that I mean what I say. Explain yourself. Now."

For a long moment he remained silent, his flaming eyes fixed on hers, waiting for her countenance to slip. When it did not, he sighed heavily and sat down at the edge of the shrine.

"It couldn't be good enough for you, could it? Bringing down the Blackwood Company, having the whole guild at your command. You had to have more. Did you not think that we depended on you? All of us?"

"You didn't depend on me that much, did you?" she asked quietly. "I would never have left you with the responsibility if I thought you couldn't handle it…"

"Master," he stood up to face her, though it seemed to take him a great deal of effort. "I depend on you more than you could possibly know."

It was not his words that made everything clear to her, but his expression. He told her everything with one livid scowl, one twitch of his narrowed eyes.

"Oh, Oreyn…" the Crusader's brow creased, and she took a step back on her heel. "How… when?"

"I honestly don't know," he shook his head, eyes glancing to everything but her face. "I'm truly sorry, Master. I understand if my position in the guild is forfeit."

Oreyn closed his eyes in anticipation of the harangue he would surely receive, and was more than a little surprised when it never came. Instead he felt calloused fingertips on his neck and warm breath against his cheek, and before he could comprehend these sensations she was kissing him.

"Master?" he frowned when she finally broke away from him.

"Had you fooled, did I?" she smiled softly, twining her fingers in his. "Come. Let's go home."

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing and subscribing!


	4. Champion

This may or may not be the final instalment. I don't know if I can get away with adding what more I'd like to add without waving goodbye to canon once and for all. Enjoy, anyway.

* * *

The next few months passed Oreyn by with astonishing speed. He marvelled inwardly at how much could change with so little changing at all. The Master took to spending most nights at his house, where they would stay awake talking until the small hours, and in the mornings they would walk together through the Chapel grounds to the Guildhall where they would continue with business as usual.

She had insisted that there was no reason to hide their relationship, arguing that there was no-one above her in the Guild hierarchy to punish her, and any accusations of favouritism towards Oreyn could be quashed as he had been her superior in the first place. He agreed to his readily, if only to see the expression on Magnus' face.

Despite how natural it all felt, there were days when Oreyn could barely believe this turn of events. It was utterly strange to see her asleep next to him, curled up and vulnerable, and know that she had fought so many battles and been a saviour to so many people. When they were alone Guild formalities were left aside, and they were perfectly happy to while away the time in each other's company.

A bare six months had passed when he noticed a change in her. It was a sickeningly familiar sight; the Master was getting restless. She became withdrawn and distractible, often speaking vaguely to herself for short periods before coming to her senses. Oreyn prayed that he was misreading the signs, but in his gut he knew that he knew her too well for that to be the case.

He woke in the middle of the night late in Rain's Hand, pulled out of a light sleep by the sound of spring showers against the window pane.

It was pitch dark in the room, but Oreyn could make out the form of the Master sat on the floor, staring intently at something. Shaking the fatigue from his head, he reached over and lit a candle.

The Master was surrounded by books and papers, and in front of her there was a large map of Cyrodiil, which had been marked at certain points with red ink. She did not move when Oreyn lit the candle, only looking up at all when he whispered her name.

"Go back to sleep, my love," she said gently.

"What are you doing?" he yawned.

"Do not concern yourself with it," she looked ragged, as if she had not slept for days, and knowing the Master this may have been the case.

"Come and get some rest."

"But I have so much to do," she raked one hand through her hair and, referencing something in a thick tome, marked another cross on the map.

"I worry for you," he frowned. "what is all this about?"

"There is a path laid down for me," she said quietly. "I have been putting off following it for a long time. But there are still some preparations I must make."

"What are you talking about?" he sighed, attempting to hide his frustration.

"In your face I behold the sun's companion," she whispered. "The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

"I don't know what this madness is about," he shook his head. "but if you are tiring of me, say it now and save the both of us some time."

"What?" her head jerked upwards. "Oh, Modryn, no…"

Abandoning her papers, she walked back over to the bed and climbed in next to him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and wrapped one scarred arm across his chest.

"I cannot tell you of what I speak," she said quietly. "For I am yet to find out myself. But something in my stomach tells me to fear the coming days. Know this now, my love. Whatever trials I may face, my heart and soul belong to you. As soon as I can let you in, I will, I swear it. But not today. Not now."

Oreyn opened his mouth to speak but was halted by the sudden heat of her lips against his. He let out an involuntary hiss of pleasure as her deft fingers travelled down over his stomach, and he was asleep within the hour.

When he woke the following morning she was gone.

* * *

If Oreyn had paused to listen to the rumours that were spreading like wildfire some months later, he may have understood something of where the Master had gone. But of course he did not, knowing better, he thought, than to trust such stories. After all, it had not been too long ago when some rabbit-faced Breton had insisted to him repeatedly that she had left on an expedition to the Wrothgarians that morning, when Oreyn knew for a fact that she was in his house sleeping off one too many bottles of mead from the previous night.

He was vaguely aware, perhaps, that whisperings of Daedra and destruction were becoming more frequent, but he stoically ignored them. In fact, in the months she had been gone Oreyn made no effort to discover the Master's whereabouts, preferring to deflect all questions on the matter by maintaining that she was away on business. This was partially due to his trusting her motives; and partially because he was terrified of discovering something he would rather not know.

The missive came early in Sun's Height, brought by a messenger on foot who denied payment for the service. He would have recognised the handwriting anywhere.

_Oreyn,_

_The time has come for you to know the truth, my love, if you still wish to hear it. If our time apart was as hard for you as it was for me then I apologise deeply, but there will be no more secrets now._

_Things are worse than I ever imagined, sera. But there is hope._

_I am not so far away as you might think. Come to Weynon Priory outside the city walls as soon as you can, and I will tell you all that is within my power to tell._

He wasted no time in hastening to the Priory, foisting some paperwork onto a rather bemused Sabine Laul and making for the city gates as fast as dignity would allow him.

He found himself in state of such utter relief upon seeing her unharmed that he barely took note of the bloodied corpses strewn around the chapter house. She was sat across a table from a rather exhausted-looking priest, and he indulged himself in watching her for a few moments before announcing his presence.

"Sanguine, you say?" she frowned. "Interesting choice for a priest."

"I was not always so inclined towards the Divines, my lady," the priest sighed. "although from what I can discern you are yourself not so unused to the conflict between Daedra and Aedra."

"I have come to see that it is possible for both forces to be used for the greater good."

"That much I can tell. It is a difficult and admirable balance to strike."

Oreyn, upon being struck by a twinge of jealously, decided it was time to make himself known.

"Master," he said quietly, placing a hand tentatively on her shoulder.

"Modryn!" she span around, laughing, and threw herself at him with an embrace so forceful it threatened to knock them both onto the Priory floor.

"Good to see you too," he smiled, burying his face into the warmth of her hair in spite of himself.

"You are a light in dark times, my love," she said quietly, holding him at arm's length. "But I am being rude, of course."

She sat in her chair once more and gestured for Oreyn to pull one up beside her.

"Martin," she continued. "Allow me to introduce my Champion Modryn Oreyn. Oreyn, this is Martin. Septim. Heir to the throne of Tamriel."

Oreyn's crimson eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Sit back," she smiled wryly. "I have something of a story to tell you."

* * *

"The _Emperor_ gave you the _Amulet of Kings_ and you never thought to say something?" Oreyn managed to ask her through his post-coital haze some hours later.

"Well, that's that moment ruined," the Master sighed, lifting her head from his chest and propping herself up on one arm. "But honestly, Modryn, what would you have thought? 'Oh well that's perfectly feasible, better let her get on with it then?'"

"I might have," he frowned.

"No, you wouldn't," she smiled. "You would have said 'oh goodness, the new recruit's a few straws short of a haystack, better call the guards'. That's a _good_ thing, by the by. Anyone who accepted such a tale out of hand would need their heads examining. I needed to prove to you… to myself… that this wasn't just some insane notion."

She reached out her left arm. It was bound tightly in muslin which she began to unwrap, wincing as she did. The last layer revealed an ugly burn, sporting the glossy, almost-healed sheen of a wound treated by magic in a hurry.

"Nothing could be more real," she shook her head. "the threat is here and now. With the Amulet gone I have precious little time."

"It is as I feared then," he groaned. "you're going to go and save the world again."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to try," she smiled weakly, tracing the scars on his chest with her forefinger.

"Hear me now," he cupped her cheek in his hand and looked her dead in the eyes. "I never say it enough. I'm excruciatingly proud of you. I hope you know that."

"Know this," she closed her eyes and laid a tender kiss on his neck. "every foul creature I slay; every unholy gateway I close; it is for you. We must leave for Bruma on the morrow. You may not see me for quite some time."

* * *

All of Chorrol knew that something was amiss. Instead of the nightshade tones of the evening a fiery haze had settled across the sky, and deep peals of thunder reverberated around the city. No-one was under any illusions of what was transpiring. News of Oblivion gates had spread across Cyrodiil in days, and many knew that it was only a matter of time before one endangered them too. The guards had ordered everyone inside their homes, making half-hearted reassurances that the city walls would hold.

Oreyn and the recruits locked themselves in the basement of the Guildhall, and not a single weapon remained sheathed. Even the layer of Colovian stone separating them from the outside could not entirely muffle the cries which echoed across the empty square.

Every sword-hand in the room twitched as they heard the wild braying of a horse, followed by the Guild doors giving way and heavy footfalls on the floor above them.

Oreyn took several tentative steps forward to listen closer to the door.

"Oreyn! Oreyn are you in there?" it was the Master's voice, and he quickly swung the door open at her words.

"Thank the Nine you're safe," he sighed as she entered the basement. "we're all accounted for."

"We have no time to waste," she breathed. Her face was streaked with ash and sweat, and a thin rivulet of blood ran down her cheek from a shallow cut under her eye. "the Daedra are swarming. I need every able man-at-arms and I need them now."

Guards were stationed by the gates, ready to let her small band of soldiers outside the city walls quickly before anything else could get in. As they tugged the heavy oak doors apart, Oreyn was faced with the peril of which he had only heard fearful tales. The reality outstripped any evil rumour a hundredfold. Stone teeth surrounded a gaping maw of flame, which crackled and oscillated as it spewed forth vile creatures beyond his darkest nightmares.

"No time!" the Master cried, pulling on her winged helm. "Charge them!"

She sprinted forward into the swarm, her guild brothers fast on her heels. In the moment before he was forced to engage in battle Oreyn caught sight of her slamming her shield into the snout of a great twisted lizard, and heard its skull break with a sickening crack.

The soldiers had to fight almost without thinking, so great was the task they had to comprehend. Pausing for a second to wonder at what evil they were facing would have been enough of a distraction to endanger their lives, so instead they pressed forward, hacking indiscriminately at any alien flesh that stepped into their paths. Eventually, mercifully, all the creatures were cut down with all the men still alive, no matter how barely. The Master beheaded one of the fallen Daedra for good measure and turned to her men.

"More will come," she cried. "You must hold them until I return!"

With that she turned on her heel and launched herself through the flaming portal, eliciting a gasp from those who had not heard that part of the story.

"Stop gawping!" Oreyn shouted, snapping out of his own trance. "You heard the Master! Keep your weapons drawn!"

He hadn't a whisper of an idea how long they stood there, taking down wave after wave of the demons. The perpetually blazing sky gave no indication of the time.

Some good men fell. Oreyn himself, already fighting through the pain of a cracked rib, was questioning how long his own stamina would hold out- and somewhere behind that, wondering if the Master would ever return at all.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the ground underneath his feet began to shake violently, and the claws of the hellish gateway began to crumble. There was a moment of perfect silence, then a shockwave erupted around him, knocking all who stood there to the floor. Smoke rose, the sky faded from orange to the blue of early morning, and all was quiet.

Getting painfully to his knees, he glanced about to see what had become of the gate. It lay shattered, merely a pile of smouldering rubble, and, amongst the destruction…

"By Azura," the Master coughed from the epicentre of the debris, brushing fragments of the wreckage from her armour. "That one was a tricky bastard."

"Are you alright?" he called, presently unable to get satisfactorily to his feet.

"Yes! Are you?" she cried, limping over to where he sat. Oreyn noticed something glowing softly in her left hand.

"I'm fine," he nodded, grimacing at the pain in his side.

"How long was I in?" she sat beside him, pulling off her helm and gauntlets off to feel for the source of his discomfort.

"I don't know. A few hours perha- ah-" he shuddered as a wave of convalescence pulsed through his chest. "Thank you."

"Are you alright to walk, my love? I can't stay long," she frowned.

"I think so."

With her assistance he rose unsteadily to his feet, and when he was upright the two of them shared a lingering embrace on the crest of the blood-stained hill.

"I must go to see the Countess," the Master stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "You will see me soon, I promise. Especially if my plans fall into place."

Predictably, she took her leave of him with this last aggravatingly vague comment, leaving him numb and dumbstruck as dawn broke over Cyrodiil. He had thought idly, many moons ago, that he would happily fight the hordes of Oblivion for her sake. How utterly typical of her that he should end up keeping that promise.

* * *

Conscripted by the Hero of Kvatch herself, they had said. Just another title for the same person. _Master, Crusader, Hero_, he thought, _she still had a chip in her front tooth and snored when she'd been drinking_.

How strange it was to be part of her army. How strange it was to see her at the _head_ of the army, grim-faced and armed to the teeth as she and the Emperor-to-be welcomed allies from all corners of the land.

Despite her request that Oreyn should be sent, the two of them had only exchanged bare pleasantries before one of the Bruma militia led him and the other Chorrol soldiers to their encampment. Ordinarily he would have been irritated by the lack of attention, but he knew that these were not days for folly. They were a nation at war, and the Master was a general before a lover.

He was still mostly unclear as to what is was the army were to do. He imagined it would be a similar situation to that at Chorrol on a grander scale, but he had heard whispers that the Master and the Emperor were willingly allowing the gate to be opened; he knew this could not be true, however.

When he finally saw her alone he barely recognised her. Her hair was cut shorter, coiled back from her face, and she possessed an imposing quality that had not been there before. She sat, bundled in furs, on one of the many sets of city steps, staring out across the Jerall Mountains. It appeared that she had been in the middle of carving arrows but had got distracted, and her sturdy branches and wood shavings lay scattered around her feet.

"And by what title am I to call you today?" he asked quietly, pacing up behind her.

"Do you know what I'd give," she said, not looking up. "for you to call me 'boot' and box my ears?"

"What?" he smiled at the back of her head, watching strands of scarlet hair come loose in the wind.

"All the mazte in Vvardenfell, Oreyn," she turned around and grinned sardonically at him. "I forget I have a name at all, sometimes. Good of you to come."

"I hardly had a say in the matter."

"Pssh. You wouldn't have come just because you were told to."

"I suppose not," he sighed. "Go on. What are we to do then?"

"Well, tonight we're going to do something incredibly dangerous, to acquire something that will enable me to do something even _more_ dangerous, so that eventually we can do something which may- or may not- but almost certainly will…" she paused here, sucking on her teeth in thought. "…save the whole of Tamriel from destruction at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"Just a normal day's work then."

"Quite," she swallowed, getting to her feet. "I am glad you're here. I'm rather terrified, if I'm being perfectly honest. Don't tell anyone."

"I promise," he pulled her into his chest with one arm, kissing the freezing tip of her ear.

"Right," she sighed. "I should probably go. Rally the troops and all that."

"Good luck, Master," he released her from his embrace and she trudged off through the snow.

"Oh, Oreyn," she called back to him. "Try not to die, will you? Someone's got to do all the paperwork."

* * *

Oreyn was sure that there was not a single man on the battlefield who did not think all was lost when the siege crawler broke through. For one devastating second every soldier's heart skipped a simultaneous beat, in a silent recognition that the world as they knew it had come to an end.

The relief then, when instead of advancing the siege crawler crashed into a twisted mess on the snow, could barely be described. The few remaining Daedra were quickly cut down and in the moment before the Great Gate too crumbled, the Master was thrown from its jaws with astonishing velocity. She rolled head over heels through the bloodstained snow before coming to a stop by a heavy snowdrift, breathing heavily and clutching something in her arms.

Martin had been the first to reach her, taking the glowing whatever-it-was from her grasp and helping her to her feet. Her armour was badly dented but, all in all, she looked remarkably unharmed. The surviving men formed a ring around her, cheering and whistling for her glory.

She drew her sword and plunged it into the ground before her, eliciting yet another raucous cry from the assembled crowd.

"Men of Cyrodiil!" she cried. "Today was not merely a battle to be fought. It was living history, and each and every one of you has been part of it. Be proud, soldiers, that you can one day tell your children that you fought alongside your Emperor. It will not be long, now, til the Dragonfires are alight once more, and the Empire will have you to thank for its safety."

She stayed a moment while Martin made his own speech to the militia, then succumbed to the pain which obviously had a firmer grip on her than it had first appeared, allowing two Blades to help her up the slope towards Cloud Ruler Temple.

Oreyn was on his way back to the encampment with the rest of the remaining soldiers when a tall Nord in Blades armour stopped him.

"The Hero has requested that you join us at the Temple. Will you come?"

"Of course," Oreyn nodded.

"Good. Follow me."

With their combined injuries the two of them made slow progress, but Oreyn was inside the Temple and out of his battered armour within the hour. He paced anxiously about the main hall in borrowed clothes, waiting for the Master to summon him. He had considered talking to the Emperor-to-be, who was sitting only a few yards away from him reading quietly, but decided that he had done enough ridiculous things already to last him an entire lifetime.

Eventually he was called into the West Wing and pointed towards the Master's chamber. He knocked firmly, waiting for her response before stepping inside.

To his surprise she was lain, somewhat awkwardly, in a large tin bathtub, the water murky with blood. When he entered she crossed her arms over her chest in a strangely chaste gesture, which made her look like anything in the world but a great leader of men.

"You're alive, then?" she smiled weakly at him, but her voice lacked the light-hearted tone that she had intended. More had fallen that night than any of them cared think about.

"Just," he said quietly, moving closer to her.

"I've got a rather embarrassing favour to ask," she said, and Oreyn could have sworn he saw her blush for a second. "I can't quite lift my arms properly and my hair's all covered in blood and ichor and, well, it's pretty disgusting. Give me a hand, will you?"

Oreyn nodded and came to crouch behind her head. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to methodically rinse the gore from her hair and face, intermittently rinsing it with fresh water from a pitcher beside the bath.

Now he was closer to her he could see the damage she had taken in horrific detail; purple bruises had blossomed on nearly every part of her body, and although there were few lacerations to speak of it was obvious that she had taken some heavy blows.

"By the Nine," he breathed. "what happened to you in there?"

"Well I had this theory," she sighed. "Since I had precious little time to play with it seemed better to just run than stop and fight anything. So, consequently, I got rather badly pelted with arrows and rocks and lightning and whatnot on my way."

"That was stupid," he said gently.

"I don't see how," she shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement. "It worked, didn't it?"

Unable to argue with this logic, Oreyn continued to massage her scalp, resisting the urge to insist fervently that she never leave the house ever again.

Washed clean of the grime of battle she was an unearthly sight to behold, broken and beautiful, the hills and valleys of her body tainted with the ugly souvenirs of war. Her face glimmered in the damp and the candlelight, tiny droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes like Azura's own stars.

He bowed his head toward her with the utmost delicacy, worried that one heavy touch might hurt her further. However, he found her kiss as firm and fervent as always, and he was reminded for the umpteenth time that no matter how fragile she may look, she was a warrior, perhaps the finest of her time, and it would take more than a few heavy blows to trounce her.

As she brought her sharp teeth down on his lip he slipped his hand under the water's surface, extracting a hiss from her throat which may have been pleasure or pain or both.

"I'm ready to get out now," she laughed gently. Within a few awkward moments she was out of the murky water, wrapped in cloths and his arms, listening in rapture to his heavy heartbeat.

As she slipped her fingers under his waistband he stopped her.

"You're seriously injured," he said quietly. "you don't have to."

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"You don't know how close we came to losing each other tonight. I have to. It's for my soul."

Oreyn nodded silently in understanding, then leant over her welted shoulder to blow out the candles.

* * *

"I've finally secured the contract from Traven," the Master sighed, sitting heavily behind her desk.

"How did you manage that one?" Oreyn took the papers from her and examined them.

"I agreed to give lectures at the Arcane University, on Oblivion and Daedra and whatnot. Only once a month, it won't keep me away from the Guild for long."

"So you're a lecturer now?" he arched an eyebrow at her.

"I suppose so," she smiled absently.

"Don't you think you're taking this all on a bit quickly?" Oreyn asked tentatively. Her wounds from the final battle had barely healed yet, and she could scarce step onto the street without being mobbed by grateful admirers.

"I need to keep busy," she said simply.

He understood. When she had returned from the Imperial City she had stayed up into the night with him, filling in the gaps from their months of separation. Martin's sacrifice had saddened her deeply. She explained that he had become something like a brother to her, as they had both shouldered the burden of unlooked-for fame. However, she refused to dwell on her grief while there was still so much damage to be repaired.

In the meantime she had insisted on picking up where she had left off within the Guild, taking an almost obsessive pleasure in the most mundane of tasks. It made her visibly awkward when she was hailed as Champion, particularly by her Guild brothers, but she had come to accept that it was a title that she would not shake easily.

Oreyn himself had been in the Imperial City on business a week or so after the crisis had ended, and had not been able to resist sneaking into the Temple District to see the aftermath of the battle and the great stone dragon at its centre. Even then, despite her vivid descriptions, he could not picture the fight between the two titans. Daedra and Divine exchanging blows as the Master watched, mere yards away. It was a staggering thought.

"I want everything to be boring now," she announced a little later, sat cross-legged on the floor of his house. "Painfully, thoroughly boring."

"Good luck," Oreyn smiled, refilling her wine glass for her. "Unfortunately you rather seem to attract excitement."

"Aye, that I do," she sighed. "But here's the thing; I really don't want to die."

"Did you want to before?" he frowned.

"No, no, of course not," she shook her head. "I just mean… I don't want to _risk _it any more. There's a little too much to live for."

"The sun's rising," he noted quietly. "Morning Star. It's the Fourth Era."

"So it is," she smiled and raised her glass to him. "Well then. Here's to an utterly uneventful year."

Oreyn agreed that this was definitely something he could drink to.

* * *

Thanks always for reading and reviewing :)


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